


I Offer You That Trust

by RetroactiveCon



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Body Worship, Chubby Leonard Snart, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Paddling, Photographs, Rope Bondage, Spanking, Sub Leonard Snart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25632166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: “I thought it might help if you could see yourself the way I do.”“You mean, take pictures of me?” Len ventures. He curls in on himself just slightly as though trying to hide his belly. “I don’t…think that will work how you think it will work, Barry. I know you want me to think I’m beautiful, but I can’t look at myself and believe it.”“I know. But…I want you to try with the pictures, just once. Because when you look in the mirror, you’re seeing your own judgment stare right back out at you. You never get to see yourself kneeling and beautiful in your submission, or just-cried-out and so open and vulnerable. I think if you could see that, you might get a glimpse of why I think you’re so stunning.”
Relationships: Barry Allen/Mick Rory/Leonard Snart
Comments: 16
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueelvewithwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueelvewithwings/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Aurelia! It's certainly no Fic Monster, but here's a bit of sub!Len being cared for, tied up, and spanked in some of the ways we plotted.
> 
> Sequel to [As You Are.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25203370)

“Hey Len?” 

Mick looks up even though Barry’s gentle voice isn’t directed at him. Their little doll looks vaguely embarrassed, but he’s smiling hopefully. That kind of smile makes both of them go soft, so Mick isn’t surprised to see Len beckon him over for a kiss. 

“What is it, Scarlet?” 

“Well.” Barry rocks. It might be happiness from the kiss—their doll rocks so cutely whenever he’s happy—but something about the look on his face makes Mick suspect it’s an anxious rock. “I was thinking about how hard it was for you to accept how beautiful you are, and I thought.” The rocking intensifies. Yep, their doll is nervous. “I thought it might help if you could see yourself the way I do.”

Len freezes. Mick does his best not to wince. He could have told Barry this is a fraught subject, and if he’d known about this plan in advance, he would have said something. 

“You mean, take pictures of me?” Len ventures. He curls in on himself just slightly as though trying to hide his belly. “I don’t…think that will work how you think it will work, Barry. I know you want me to think I’m beautiful, but I can’t look at myself and believe it.”

Barry kneels down in front of Len and looks up at him. He catches one of Len’s hands and plays with his fingers as he explains. “I know,” he explains. “There are days where I’m still so disgusted with my scrawny little self that I hate looking in the mirror. But…I want you to try with the pictures, just once. Because when you look in the mirror, you’re seeing your own judgment stare right back out at you. You never get to see yourself kneeling and beautiful in your submission, or just-cried-out and so open and vulnerable. I think if you could see that, you might get a glimpse of why I think you’re so stunning.”

Len’s eyes are full of the self-loathing reply he won’t let himself utter aloud. Mick reaches over to squeeze his hand. 

“You can say no,” he reminds him gently. He loves their doll’s enthusiasm, but the last thing he wants is for Len to feel pressured into something that’ll only make him feel worse about himself. 

“No…no, I’m willing to try.” Len stays curled, but there’s a heartbreaking little spark of hope in his eyes. Of course their doll would put that kind of hope there. “What did you have in mind for the photo shoot?”

“Well.” Barry glances at Mick as though asking his permission. Cute little doll—he’s such a good Dom to their Len, but he worries so much about whether he’s actually doing it right. “You know that rope that looks like fire? I thought maybe we would tie you up pretty in that rope and take some pictures of you once you were nice and floaty.”

Mick’s Dom side purrs at that idea. Len has diverse kinky interests, but rope is one of his favorites because of the range of options—tight, painful, constricting knots for when he needs dragged out of too-busy thoughts, suspension for when he’s feeling daring, and the simple clarity of kneeling or lying bound when he needs a blissful, controlled fall into subspace. It’s the perfect choice for a kinky photo session, and using Mick’s favorite rope, no less. 

Len makes a soft, needy noise low in his throat. “Oh,” he whines. “Oh, I want to like that idea, but the rope is so pretty and I’m…” 

“Beautiful,” Mick reminds him. He reaches over and scratches the little tender spot at the nape of Len’s neck. Len melts with the cutest little mewl. “You wanna go get tied up pretty? Then why not go now and let our doll take some pictures?”

Len nods slowly. “Y-yes,” he murmurs, tilting his head to let Mick keep petting him. “Okay, yes. But I reserve the right to shred the pictures.”

“Of course.” Barry leans up and kisses him soft and slow. “It’s your choice, sweetheart. It’s always your choice, although we’ll do everything we can to help you see how much you’re worth loving yourself.”

“Then.” Len takes Barry’s hands and gives them a squeeze. “Lead the way, Sir.”

Mick follows the two of them to the bedroom, where Barry shows Len an old Polaroid camera of which he seems particularly proud. “I got it for cheap,” he explains. “I thought it would be perfect for making a collage.”

While Len admires the camera, Mick brings out the rope Barry mentioned. It’s a beautiful rope, dyed in shades of red, orange, and yellow-orange (not pure yellow, which none of them really like), and when tied, it gives the illusion of being consumed in flames. Mick loves it as a way to envelop his lovers in the flames he adores without hurting them. 

“Undress, pet,” he orders.

Obediently, Len raises his hands to the hem of his sweater. He pauses with it halfway off. “Are…are you sure? I could keep my clothes on, it might look better.”

“No, sweetheart.” Barry brings out Len’s cushion and sets it in the middle of the floor. With the cushion arranged, he stands up and pulls Len into a kiss. “I want to see your beautiful body. The rope is pretty, but it’s not the center of attention to us. You are.”

Len nods and slowly, carefully strips off his clothes. He takes his time folding them and setting them aside, so it’s a few minutes before they see him fully, stunningly bare. 

Len’s body has always, even when he was small and scrawny, spoken of power to Mick. It coils in every shift of the muscle under his skin, and even now that he’s put on weight, he doesn’t look any less powerful or capable. And of course, his strength and drive to survive is written on his skin in a multitude of scars. Mick knows the stories behind many of them—not most, but plenty—and knows what Len fought through to stand there in front of them. The fact that he’s a consummate survivor by virtue of his absolute control over his body and his plans makes his ready submission of both that much more awe-inspiring. 

“Look at you,” Mick says, unable to find the words to express the tangled emotions Len’s body inspires. 

Len, apparently misreading his tone, curls in on himself and mumbles, “I asked if you wanted me to keep my clothes on.”

“That’s not what he’s saying.” Barry steps forward and rests his hands on Len’s sides, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles in his skin. It dimples sweetly under his touch. “He means you’re stunning.” 

Len blushes and stammers and ducks his head. Mick gets to see him blush maybe once every couple of months, though it’s happened more often since Barry joined them; something about Barry’s wide-eyed, earnest appreciation turns Len into a pink-cheeked, tongue-tied mess. It’s one of the cutest things he’s ever seen in his life, not that he’d tell Len that. “I-I-I…well, that’s…you’re sure?”

“Course he’s sure, pet,” Mick rumbles, “’cause I do.”

The blush intensifies. Mick waits for a moment, letting Len be cute and bewildered, before ordering, “Kneel.”

Len drops to his knees so quickly that, were it not for the cushion, he might have damaged himself. Mick rubs a hand over his head and praises, “Good boy,” just to watch the way Len’s face lights up. 

“Now.” Barry kneels in front of him so they’re eye to eye. “Mick is going to tie you up however he likes. Once he’s done, when you’re nice and floaty, I’ll take some pictures. When we’re done, once you’re back up and well-cuddled, we can look through those pictures together. Does that sound good?”

Len nods. The movement is somewhat hesitant, but Mick can tell from the look in his eyes that he’s starting to drift just from kneeling for them. “Yes, Sir.” 

Barry kisses his brow and whispers, “Good boy.” Then he gets to his feet and stands back so Mick can work.

Mick takes his time and goes slow. He knows from talks with Len that the feel of the rope against his skin is enough to get him floaty most of the time, but it works better when Mick works slow. Just for that, he takes his time about it, tying an intricate pattern of diamond shapes over the scarred skin of Len’s torso. He ties his arms, but only barely, more decorative than restrictive. When Len struggles against the rope, the way he always does, there’s just enough restraint to make him sigh and melt a little more. 

“You like that?” Mick rumbles. “You like knowing we’re here, and we’ve gotcha, and you can just let go?”

It’s just the coaxing Len needs. His eyes have been shut pretty much since Mick started, but little lines of tension at their corners melt away. His face goes slack, his mouth hangs half-open, and he sinks into his bonds in the kind of submission that makes Mick glowingly proud.

“Look at our boy,” he murmurs when he steps back. Len can still hear them, but Mick doubts he’s paying any attention to their words. His face is completely peaceful; he’s gone, and will be for awhile. “Just like fire.”

Barry smiles and kneels down at Len’s side. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers reverently before kissing Len’s temple. Len’s parted lips curve into the smallest of smiles. “So good for us. So pretty.” 

Mick has the pleasure of watching while Barry paces around, taking photos of Len from every angle. They print immediately, a loud enough process that Mick fears it will disturb their boy, but Len doesn’t seem to notice the noise. He stays perfectly still, melted and happy in his bonds, until Barry sets aside the dozenth photo and lays the camera on the bed. 

“I think I have all the photos I want,” he admits in a whisper, “but I hate to disturb him.”

Truth be told, Mick doesn’t want to bother him either. Whatever pretty place he’s found in his mind, he deserves to spend as much time there as possible—and it’s certainly no chore to look at him, tied up in that firelight rope, so peaceful and happy. Still, Mick knows better. “We gotta get him up soon, or he won’t thank us for what it’ll do to his knees.”

Barry nods. “I know. And now we have pictures of your hard work.” He holds up the Polaroid pictures. Mick nods and holds out a hand to hide them from view. 

“Don’t show me yet, I wanna see them when he does.”

Undoing the rope is just as much of a process, partly because of Mick’s caution and partly to give Len time to drift back up. Barry talks to him and pets his head as Mick undoes the rope, coaxing him out of subspace enough to open his eyes as Mick undoes the last few loops.

“I’m not awake,” he mumbles when Mick tries to guide him up off the cushion.

Mick laughs. “You’re cute. I know you aren’t, but your knees won’t thank me if I let you stay there.”

Len hums and tolerates being coaxed into bed. Barry wraps him up in blankets while Mick goes to get water and a dish of chocolate-covered fruit and nuts for Len’s sweet tooth. The pieces also happen to be the perfect size for hand-feeding him, which Barry and Mick take turns doing until Len seems more alert. 

“You took me so deep I forgot how words work,” he laughs. Even an alert post-scene Len is a cuddly mess, so Mick isn’t surprised to have his arms full of clingy sub.

“It was tempting to keep you there,” Barry admits. He makes it sound like a taunt, like a Len who doesn’t know how words work is his ideal, but Mick knows what he means: seeing Len surrender so completely is a gift. 

“Ha,” Len grumbles, pretending to be insulted. Still thoroughly snuggled up to Mick, he turns over enough to look at Barry and demand, “So where are these photos?”

Barry pulls out the pictures. The top one is head-on: Len’s relaxed, open face, the crisscross of red and orange over his torso, scars peeking through the ropework. The Polaroid isn’t quite crisp; the edges are a little blurred, a little hazy, in a way that just makes Len look softer and sweeter. Mick loves it. 

“That’s what I look like?” Len takes the photo and examines it. Maybe he’s still on the edge of whatever pretty headspace the picture shows, because his lower lip wobbles and he whispers, “I look so peaceful.”

“Yeah you do,” Mick agrees. He brushes his fingertips over the photo. “Look at that. See how pretty you are when you float?”

Len bites his lip. “I…I’m beautiful?” he checks, glancing at Barry. Their doll’s face lights up and he pulls Len into his arms. 

“You are,” he agrees. “You’re so beautiful to us.”

That puts whatever worries Len had about the photos to rest. They look through the remaining pictures, some from every angle, and Mick finds that Len is partial to the ones taken in three-quarter profile. So is he, if he’s honest; seeing Len from that angle makes him look even more like he’s been caught unaware as he floats. 

“Good.” Barry sets the chosen photos aside and holds out the remainder to Len. “Did you want to tear these up?”

Len considers. “No.” He snuggles into Mick’s arms and makes a little purring noise like a contented kitten. Mick squeezes him tight, enjoying how soft and warm he feels. “You can throw them away, but no. I don’t…hate them that much.”

Barry sets them aside in a different pile. “Then we’ll worry about those later,” he murmurs. “For now, I just want to hug my good boy.”

“Same,” Mick agrees, squeezing Len again. Their good boy melts into the pressure and makes a soft, happy sound. 

“I’m sleeping now. I’m asleep. You can’t do anything about it.” 

Mick laughs, kisses Len’s brow, then leans over to kiss Barry’s broad smile. “Guess there’s nothing you can do about us sleeping too.”

Len makes another happy sound when Barry snuggles up against him. “Nope,” he mumbles in agreement. “And don’t want to.”

They fall asleep cuddled and happy, and Mick thinks that he’s happy their doll made such a bold suggestion.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time the camera comes back, it’s an impulsive decision, and Barry isn’t there to witness it. (He sees and enjoys the aftermath, though.)

“Mick.”

“Hmm?” Mick has his reading glasses perched on his nose and a half-finished draft of Rebecca Silver’s latest novel in front of him, trying to recapture the spark that deserted him halfway through. Len's got a tone like he wants to talk, but Mick's brain is still in writing mode and he can't let that go too easily.

Len is curled in the armchair, frowning and picking at his sleeve. “I haven’t wanted to bring this up with Barry here,” he admits, “because it’s not something he would understand, but…” He curls in on himself. “I feel like I’ve gotten so bad for you.”

Mick looks up at that. He’s starting to remember what sparked his newest novel, and it’s nothing that can be found in some half-finished pages. “What do you mean? Because you’ve gained weight?”

Len shakes his head. “No. Yes. No. Not only. It’s more…” He chews his lip. Mick needs to go over and thumb that guilty lip out from between his teeth before he chews it red and bloody. “I feel like you’ve grown so much and I’ve stagnated…or gotten worse.” He confesses this in a guilty little whisper. “I haven’t grown, I’m still emotionally incompetent and bitter and terrified of weakness, and you’ve grown and found connection and you’re _better_.”

Mick stares. He really didn’t see this one coming. “You really think that?” he rumbles. 

Len looks down at the floor. His fretful hand shifts from picking at his sleeve to playing with his ring. “I’m dragging you down, you and Barry. He’s good for you and I’m…not.”

“You can’t see how much you’ve grown?” Mick doesn’t see how Len could miss it. The independent punk kid he met in juvie would never have accepted the love and gentle direction Len so easily requests now, and the young thief with a chip on his shoulder would never have voluntarily traded his adrenaline-junkie heists for missions with a hero. Len has grown in so many ways, and he’ll never see them in himself. Mick knows him well enough to know that. 

“I feel like I’m holding you back,” Len admits, all big sorrowful eyes and tucked-up, sad posture. That just won’t do.

“C’mere.” Mick beckons Len over into his lap. Slowly, Len obeys, shuffling across the floor between their chairs and settling delicately on Mick’s thigh. He won’t put his whole weight down, so Mick yanks him off-balance. “Look. The guy I knew a few years ago was a stubborn bastard who wouldn’t accept help or admit that he was wrong. Now look at you. You ask the doll and me for help seeing yourself as beautiful. You sometimes say we know better than you, even on heists and shit. You’ve changed plenty.”

“It’s not enough,” Len admits. He goes back to chewing his lip. This time, Mick is able to thumb it out from between his teeth.

“Not enough in general?” he clarifies. “Or not enough for me?”

“Either, I guess.” Len gives him a bashful look. “But especially for you.”

Mick shakes his head. His poor, self-hating little punk partner. “In general? Can’t help with that. Only you get to call that. But for me? That’s my call, not yours. And I say you’re good for me and only getting better.”

Len looks down at the floor. Mick's considering coaxing him to look up when he whispers, “I still don’t believe it.”

Mick knows what that look means. “You want me to spank it into your head?”

Len glances up at him as though he’s been caught doing something naughty. “…Yes, please, Sir.”

“Our room,” Mick orders. “On the bed.”

When they get into the room, Len undresses without being asked and takes up a position on the bed on his hands and knees. He looks gorgeous, Mick thinks, and doesn’t hesitate to say so. He expects Len’s flinch. “You don’t believe me.” Rather than revisit that discussion, he asks, “How many do you think it’ll take to spank you into thinking you’re good?”

Len glances over his shoulder, all worried eyes and bitten-red lip. He still thinks Mick doesn't really like what he's seeing, poor thing. “You decide,” he murmurs. 

“Huh.” Mick runs his hand over the curve of Len’s ass. “So I decide the number of spanks you get, but I don’t decide whether you’re good for me?”

Len ducks his head. “It sounds ridiculous when you put it that way.”

“’Cause it is,” Mick agrees, then spanks him.

Len takes his spanks with minimal whimpering, which just won’t do. Mick wants to break him open and slip praise in all the gaps. He spanks him harder and asks, “Why do you think you’re no good for me?”

“You’ve— _ah!_ —changed so much,” Len explains. “And I haven’t, not enough.”

“Like I said.” Mick spanks him hard enough to make him yelp. “You’re the only one who can decide if you wanna change more. But I get to decide if you’ve changed enough for me.”

Len endures his spanking in silence. Finally, after another particularly hard swat, he bursts out, “What if I’m fooling you into believing I’ve changed?”

Of course he’s overthinking it that much. Mick sighs. “Does it matter?”

“Wh—yes?” The question seems to break Len’s brain more than the spanking. Mick takes some pride in that. His little partner can come up with these brilliant, complicated theories of why something is the way it is and what they can do about it, but half the time he can’t defend them when Mick gets hold of them.

“Your actions are all the doll and I see.” Mick keeps spanking him, off-rhythm sometimes just to keep Len from settling into it too much. He wants Len to feel every spank until he breaks down whatever’s causing him worry. “Looks like you’ve changed.”

“B-but if I haven’t, and I’m making you think I have…” Len’s breath catches in his throat, watery and shaky. “I’ll slip up one day and hurt you.”

“You could do that anyway,” Mick says with a shrug that Len can’t see. He doesn’t get why Len has to make everything so complicated. “Just because you change doesn’t make you perfect. You could still slip up and hurt us. Thing is, if you doubt yourself, you’re gonna doubt every minute between now and that mistake. If you don’t, you get to enjoy the now, and when we get there, you’ll do what it takes to earn our trust back.”

A particularly hard swat tips Len over into outright tears. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he sobs. “I just want to be good for you.”

“You are.” Mick keeps spanking him. He wants his little partner cried out and broken open before he stops. “You’re so good for me. So good for _us_ , me and the doll.”

Len sobs and burrows his face into the pillow. Mick keeps spanking him a little longer; then he curls on the mattress next to him and gathers him into his arms. 

“Gotcha,” he murmurs. “I gotcha.” 

Len cries himself quiet, eventually, in between watery whispers of “I’m good?” and reassurance from Mick. When he pulls back, Mick is confronted with the sight of his little partner pink-cheeked and tear-streaked, his eyes puffy and red and open so wide, watching Mick’s face for proof that he meant what he said. He’s beautiful, and before Mick knows what he’s doing, he blurts, 

“Can I take a picture?”

“Why?” Len sniffles. “I just bawled my eyes out. I’m hideous.”

Mick shakes his head. “You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs. “Let me show you.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Len nods.

Mick doesn’t have to get up to fetch the camera, just stretch out a bit to grab it from the bedside table that Barry’s claimed for his own. (It used to be Mick’s, but he’s never had as hard a time giving up his stuff as Len; he does worse adapting to people.) Once he has the camera, the trick is not getting Len to make faces—he does anyway whenever a camera is pointed at him, and now that he thinks Mick’s getting an ugly photo of him, he’s got his lip curled in this perpetual little sneer. Finally, Mick says, “You know, I told you you’re my good and beautiful partner. I meant it.”

He catches the little flicker of softness in Len’s eyes, and the resulting picture is beautiful.


	3. Chapter 3

“Sir?”

Barry looks up. Len is standing in front of him, holding himself as though he’s running from bad thoughts of one kind or another. With some urgency in his movements but a gentle, patient tone, Barry sets his book aside and asks, “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I need to get out of my head, please,” Len whispers. He’s so sweet like this, half in a subby headspace already and so desperately in need of guidance. Barry can’t possibly resist when he asks like that. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Just you and me, okay? There’s no point waiting for Mick to get home when you need out of your head now.” He gets to his feet and pulls Len into his arms. “Let’s go to the bedroom, okay? I’m going to have you strip for me, and then I’m going to spank you until those thoughts go away for a little while.”

Obediently, Len trails him to the bedroom. As soon as they’re through the door, Len starts stripping off his clothes. Rather than watch him, which sometimes he likes and sometimes he finds uncomfortable, Barry wanders to their toybox and pulls out a slim leather paddle. The word ‘Love’ has been carved into the leather, and a forceful hit will leave it on the spankee's behind, pale amidst a spanked-red rectangle. 

“That’s what you think I deserve, Sir?” Len asks quietly. 

Barry nods. “Yes, sweetheart. I want you to feel how much you’re loved—quite literally.” 

He looks Len over. His beautiful boy is fully naked, his hands clasped awkwardly in front of his belly. Barry resists the urge to kneel down in front of him and press kisses to his belly and thighs. Instead, he makes an approving sound and says, “My beautiful Len. Get on the bed for me, sweetheart. Hands and knees.”

Len crawls into position in the middle of the bed, presenting his ass for Barry’s inspection. Barry runs his hand over the curve of it before bringing his hand down sharply—a warm-up spank to warn Len what's coming. 

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” 

Len’s voice sounds faintly watery when he begs, “ _Please_ , Sir.” Oh, his poor worried boy. Barry needs to take him too far out of his head for any of that worry to linger. 

“One,” Barry says before bringing the paddle down against Len’s ass. It makes the most wonderful _smack!_ when it hits his skin. Len jolts forward, surprised by the pain even though he knew to expect it. 

“Look at you.” On his ass, ‘Love’ is outlined in quick-blossoming pink. Barry quickly grabs the camera and gets three pictures from slightly different angles—Len’s to choose from later. Then, swiftly, he brings the paddle down again. 

“Loved,” Len whispers. Barry’s heart swells. He’s so sweet—rather than count the strikes when he’s spanked with this paddle, Len has gotten into the habit of saying “Loved” after each one. It’s such a darling way for him to remind himself how loved he is. 

“Yes, good boy.” Barry rubs his hand over Len’s now-warm ass. “You’re so loved. Even if you feel like you aren’t, you’re ours—Mick’s and mine—and you’re loved.”

Sometimes he questions this, however briefly. Not today. Instead, he lets Barry praise and spank him without a word of contradiction. 

“My good boy,” Barry coos again after the fifteenth spank with the paddle. There’s no distinct ‘love’ mark on Len’s ass anymore, only a delightful shade of red. “I know your mind is cruel to you sometimes, but that isn’t how Mick and I see you. We see our beautiful, good boy—all your mistakes, yes, but also all the joy you bring us, all the little ways you show how much you love us. And we love you _so much_ for that.”

Len lets out a little sob. Barry’s heart clenches. His poor darling boy—he must have gotten into a terrible place in his mind before asking for help. He doesn’t usually cry so readily.

“You’re ours,” Barry repeats. “And you’re so loved.”

“L-loved,” Len agrees. His voice is trembling so much between sobs that it takes him a few tries to speak. 

Barry delivers the last couple of spanks with his hand rather than the paddle, as sort of a cooldown. By the time he sets the paddle aside, Len has tipped forward to cry into the pillow. Barry curls on the mattress beside him and pulls him into his arms. 

“My Len,” he murmurs. “You’re accepting it so much more easily now, sweetheart. You’re ours. You’re loved. And you will always be worthy of love.” He doesn’t mention anything about that worth being independent of them; with Len in this headspace, it’s likely to make him worry they’ll leave. The distinction isn’t important enough (at least for the moment) to risk the inevitable panic.

Slowly, Len nods. “I know, Sir,” he whispers, his voice watery and unsure. “I know. I want to be good for you and earn your love because I—”

“Earn our love?” Oh. That explains so much about why he panics when he feels he’s let them down. He genuinely believes that one too many mistakes will cost him their affection. “Len, you don’t have to earn our love. You’re worth it, and I know—believe me, do I ever know—how hard it is to accept that, but it’s true.”

Len gives a shaky, teary-edged laugh. “I’m not worth anything except pain, Sir. Pain is given. Love is earned.”

Barry has a momentary, gut-deep flash of panic—what have he and Mick done to teach Len such a terrible, backwards thing? Then he realizes it’s not what they taught him; it’s what Lewis taught him when he was young, that even many years with Mick and a little time with Barry haven’t undone. “No, sweetheart, no. In any relationship, love is given, or should be given, without stipulations or conditions. You _are_ our Len. And right now, with the dynamic we have, pain can be earned, but even if you called an end to the kinky games and didn’t want to take punishments anymore, you would still be our Len.”

Len sobs anew and buries his face in Barry’s shoulder. “I c-can’t accept that,” he whimpers. “I don’t know how.”

“Day by day,” Barry coos. “With us reminding you.” 

He shifts around to grab the pictures and carefully holds them out to Len. “You’re mine—ours. And you are so loved.”

Len takes the pictures and stares at them. A tear drops onto the topmost one, blurring the ink in the corner. It doesn’t obscure the focus of the image, which is Len’s ass with ‘Love’ spanked into the skin. The rest of Len’s body, stretched out on all fours, is visible but slightly blurred. 

“I look so…” Len’s voice catches before he settles on “… _good_ like this, and I—I can’t reconcile it with the image of me I have in my head.” He notices the tearstain and brushes a fingertip over it. “I ruined it.”

“No,” Barry murmurs. “It’s more beautiful this way.”

All three photos make their way onto the ever-growing collage pinboard, but the tearstained picture ends up in a place of pride for the beauty of Len’s reaction to it.


	4. Chapter 4

The collage grows. Mick sometimes catches Len looking at it early in the morning as he’s getting dressed or in quiet moments while they ready themselves for a scene. Sometimes he sees a sneer curling Len’s lip, as though what he’s seeing disgusts him; other times, he seems soft, pensive, reaching out to touch the same picture—always the tearstained photo of his ‘Love’-marked backside. Mick doesn’t know why that picture in particular, and he’s not going to ask. Len can tell him, if he wants. 

He figures the collage has done what they wanted it to do, though, when one night he eases Len onto his back and says, “Let us look at you,” and Len obeys. 

It’s been a long time since he just looked at Len like this, and he’s not sure Barry ever has. He’s the prettiest sight Mick’s ever seen. Barry’s a vision, and the times Mick’s seen him naked have had him staring in awe, but Len is more than that. He’s familiar. He’s _Mick’s_ , and has been for a long time. 

“Look at you,” he rumbles, reaching out and stroking a hand over Len’s shoulder and along his upper arm. He knows the stories of the scars there—was there when some of them were made. He’s tracing their history, written on Len’s skin. 

Barry’s been sitting back on his heels, apparently waiting for Mick’s cue to move. Now that he has it, he leans forward and kisses Len: lips, nose, brow. “You’re ours,” he reminds him. “All of you, ours, cherished.”

Len nods and gives him a shy, careful smile. When he speaks, though, there’s nothing shy or careful about it. “Yours.”

Mick bends down to kiss Len’s neck at the same time Barry does. They knock heads, and Barry yelps. Len makes a quiet, hastily-stifled noise of amusement. “Hard-headed, isn’t he?”

“Hey,” Mick grumbles, nipping at Len’s jaw in retaliation. It shuts him up, but the noise it gets out of him makes Mick growl, “None of that. You’re gonna lay still and let us explore and _not get worked up_.”

“No promises,” Len says in the breathless tone that means he’ll do whatever Mick asks of him. 

Mick trails kisses along the same shoulder he’d touched. Barry scoots away a little more to keep from knocking against each other a second time and starts kissing the scars on Len’s chest. “You’re beautiful,” Barry whispers between kisses. “Do you know that?”

Len makes a little pensive noise that Mick gets to feel vibrate in his chest. He loves when Len does that. “I know you two think that,” he murmurs, “and my Doms aren’t liars.” 

It’s the best progress they could hope for given the circumstances. Mick kisses him in reward. Barry strokes his hand over Len’s chest, then up Mick’s arm to his shoulder. Their cute little doll loves to touch them both. 

“We do.” Barry bends down and presses another kiss to another scar. That one Mick remembers—knife fight. Len had gotten in the way of a knife meant for Mick’s back. He never properly thanked him for it. “We think you’re beautiful, and that every part of you is valuable and loved.”

Barry’s saying the pretty words better than Mick ever could, but he’s not quite got the meaning. Mick lays his hand over the scar Barry kissed, rubs it with his thumb, and recalls, “Knife fight. Don’t remember who started it, but I ended it when you got this.”

Barry looks at the two of them as though he wants let in on a story that happened when he was just a kid. “You took a knife for him?” he asks Len. It’s so full of emotion—awe, respect, love, a hint of accusation—that Mick expects it to make Len shut down. Instead, he nods.

“One of several. Never been sorry for it.” Len looks up at Mick with the open, soft expression that means he gets it. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to, at least not for the two of them. For Barry’s benefit, he murmurs, “That’s what you see when you look at my scars.”

Mick nods and leans in to kiss him. Barry makes a soft, wounded sound before stroking his hand over Len’s shoulder. 

“I don’t know the stories behind them, but I know your scars show your past—what you’ve lived through, how you’ve changed, good ways and bad. That’s beautiful to me.”

Their doll feels left out. Mick sits back slightly, slides his hand down to the curve of Len’s hip, and just holds him there. “Doll, you wanna give our pet the kisses he deserves?”

“With pleasure,” Barry agrees, bending down to kiss all over Len’s soft, round belly. 

Mick lets Barry have plenty of kisses before leaning down to suck a hickey into the tender skin on the inside of Len’s left thigh. Len makes a sweet little noise and lets his legs fall open wider, giving Mick a better angle to work. 

“You like that?” he teases. “You wanna wear our bruises?”

“Yes please.” And really, who is Mick to deny his partner when he asks so sweetly? He’s not expecting Len to follow his sweet plea with a quieter request. “I—I want a picture of me covered in marks from both of you.”

Mick and Barry glance at each other and nod. Their sweet sub has never asked for a picture before. That’s progress that has to be rewarded. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Barry coos, bending down to kiss Len’s lips. 

They set about marking Len’s body as they worship it—his neck and shoulders, his belly and thighs, even a few bites on his upper arms, which make him laugh and protest by turns. Mick turns him onto his side to suck a couple of hickies into the backs of his thighs while Len and Barry kiss slow and deep. Len breaks away to yelp when Mick can’t resist biting his ass. “Really?!”

“What, I can’t give your cute ass some love?” Mick rubs his hand over the bite mark, which is pinking up quick. Len’s ass looks so good all marked up. 

“Not the sharp kind of love,” Len pouts, but his eyes are bright and happy. Yeah, he always was weak for a little bit of pain. 

By the time they’re done with him, Len is bruised in all the best ways. Hickies bloom freshly red all over his body, including a pair on his neck of which he seems particularly proud. He poses for pictures spread out and smiling, shifting himself into progressively less tasteful seductive poses as the photo session continues. He’s too playful for Mick to be weirded out by it, though. In fact, it’s downright cute. 

“Didn’t think you’d be that okay with us taking photos of you,” he says while Barry sorts through the newly-printed pictures. 

“Well, you gave me something to be proud of showing off.” Len runs his fingers over the hickies on his thighs and lets his eyes flutter closed. “Oh that hurts in the best way.”

Apparently satisfied with the pictures, Barry scoots between the two of them to show them the final results. “Oh, and I think we’re out of photo paper,” he adds. “I can get more…”

“No.” Len glances over at the collage on the wall. “This has been…an experience, but I think I’m happy with what we have.” Slightly quieter, he adds, “I don’t know that I’ll ever think I’m beautiful, not the way you want me to think, but I’ve seen what you value about my submission, at least. The peace of it.”

Barry nods and snuggles into Len’s side. “That’s all I wanted,” he agrees. “It was worth it for that.”

Mick glances over at the collage again. He’s impressed that Barry got the pictures he did, with Len’s aversion to photos. They come together into such a breathtaking whole that he can’t help reaching around to squeeze both his partners in a hug. “The two of you are treasures,” he says gruffly. Damn. Feelings coming out there. But if Len’s startled squeak and Barry’s delighted smile are anything to go by, the uncharacteristic feelings are plenty welcome.


End file.
